How much of Spring springs on me!

How much of spring springs on me!

When March marches like a coy mistress,
bemuse what happens to these dry leaves
almost pounded, like disowned relatives,
when penury is writ large on their face,
April advances in silken robes, all smiles,
I enjoy the soft and velvet foam of Dove
Cream soap in my bath tub of London flat,
lingering aroma still on my wet skin,
a lavender sari to keep up the tempo,
while my soothing memory dates back
to Heathrow’s terminal three where a
a hot sip of Cappuccino with wavy
smokes elusive escape to nowhere,
a covey of doves on the elevated
car parking, enjoying the take off
and landing planes, perhaps,
I partake of the thrush and orange
necked white bird in their semi-chorus,
with the cuckoos, in their melody,
I bid farewell to those notes of lugubrious,
injustice and clever deception,
Away! Away ! You dark, dismal
wintry days! Unmooring me.